The Lanzis II

By Giancarlo Gabbrielli

• Language: English
• Publisher: Global Summit House
• Release date: Jun 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781649454058

Giancarlo Gabbrielli

Giancarlo Gabbrielli was born in Florence, Italy and went to school at the Istituto Tecnico Pacinotti of Pisa. Then, after several years with a special department of the Italian Air Force and time with the NASA-USAF training centres, he moved to Canada. After a few years at the University of Winnipeg, he began a commercial activity and contributed editorials and political essays to Italo-Canadian newspapers. He also wrote novels with historical content and he has now published 13 books in English and Italian. Of these, 6 are part of the semi-autobiographical “THE LANZI SAGA”, 2 are collection of short stories, 3 are love stories and 2 relate to the political and military struggle of Italy in the period of 1943-1945. The ForeWord Clarion Review wrote that, in the Lanzis saga, “Giancarlo Gabbrielli has captured the noise and stench of war, the devastation of the land, the struggle for basic survival that can forever mark those who endure it. By taking readers into the mind and heart of a young, observant child, and by including sympathetic characters in both sides of the conflict, the author has made a powerful statement against the obscenity of war.”

Book preview

The Lanzis II

The Age of Consciousness

Giancarlo Gabbrielli

Copyright © Giancarlo Gabbrielli.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ISBN: 978-1-64945-406-5 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-64945-407-2 (Hardcover Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-64945-405-8 (E-book Edition)

Some characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Book Ordering Information

Phone Number: 347-901-4929 or 347-901-4920

Email: [e-mail]

Global Summit House

www.globalsummithouse.com

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Recap Of Book I

Preface Of Book II

- I -

- II -

- III -

- IV -

- V -

- VI -

- VII -

- VIII -

- IX -

- X -

- XI -

- XII -

- XIII -

- XIV -

- XV -

- XVI -

- XVII -

- XVIII -

- IXX -

- XX -

- XXI -

- XXII -

- XXIII -

- XXIV -

- XXV -

- XXVI -

- XXVII -

- XXVIII -

- XXIX -

- XXX -

- Book Two -

- XXXI -

- XXXII -

- XXXIII -

- XXXIV -

- XXXV -

- XXXVI -

- XXXVII -

- XXXVIII -

- Book Three -

- XXXIX -

- XL -

- XLI -

- XLII -

- XLIII -

- XLIV -

- XLV -

Recap Of Book I

As Ricardo Lanzi had feared, on May 1943, after the fall of the African front, the fighting had extended to the Italian territory. During the spring of 1944, on their retreat northword chased by the Americans, the Germans had placed a temporary defence line along the River Arno and the two armies fought from and near its banks.

The Lanzi family found themselves in the midst of the conflict, on the north side of the river, in German occupied territory. They were persistently bombarded by the Americans from the air and constantly harassed by the Germans on the ground. Wishing to escape the danger, though reluctantly, the Lanzis decided to abandon their little villa – perilously close to one of the bridges over the Arno and an important roadway – as they had both become strategic targets. Fortunately, they found refuge with a generous farmer’s family, the Banchini, who lived in the countryside.

Around mid September, after months of endured dangers, thanks to a further retreat by the Germans, for the population of the Arno valley, the long nightmare ended.

Thirteen year old Robert, his mother Patrizia and his Grandmother, or nonna Luisa, were about to return home.

*****

Preface Of Book II

Tuscany 1944.

Summer, saw jigsaw warfare in the frontlines and an impass of several months at the Arno River. At the end of the summer, the Germans retreated to a line of defence prepared in the mountain area north of Tuscany. It was called the Gothic Line. This allowed the Americans to ‘liberate’ that region.

During that period, the Lanzi family had shrunk to only three people; Luisa, her daughter-in-law Patrizia with her thirteen year old son, Roberto. For Riccardo and Lorenzo Lanzi, respectively father and uncle to the young boy, had been drafted when Italy entered the war on Germany’s side, and their destiny was unknown.

Upon their return home, the family attempts to restart their shattered lives, while waiting for their men to return. Communism replaces Fascim as the new political force. The Italian people are divided and fearful to fall prey to another dictastorship.

Slowly, life begins to move forth, but the family is burdened by financial problems and the unknown destiny of Riccardo and Lorenzo.

Lorenzo finally returns and the next few years see Roberto in school growing into a young man. He has forgotten his war-time love and finds an irresistible attraction for a young and beautiful teacher.

Roberto leaves school and goes to work in a Tannery. He falls in love again, but he refrains from declaring his sentiments, as his friend wants to pursue the same girl. After a few years in the tannery, he joins the Air Force. Upon his departurte he finally understands how much he is going to miss his girl, his mother, his friends.

- I -

SEPTEMBER, 1944

"After so many misadventures Luisa Lanzi said, finally the nightmare is over. The time has come to pick up the pieces and begin living again."

A year earlier, in the spring of 1943, the war front, in its northward movement in the Italian peninsula, had reached the region of Tuscany. The Lanzi family had found itself in the midst of battles on the north side of the Arno River, held by the retreating Wehrmacht army. They were subject to frequent bombing by the Americans from the air, and constantly threatened by German reprisals on the ground.

Unable to endure this relentless danger, they had reluctantly abandoned their small villa – perilously close to the bridge, the highway, and some other targets- and found refuge with a family of farmers, deep in the countryside.

Finally, the Germans had retreated to the north and on that beautiful day of September, the Lanzis were able to return home!

Gino Banchini, the owner of the farm, who had sheltered the Lanzis, was now taking Luisa, her daughter-in-law Patrizia, and her son Roberto, together with their few belongings back home in his oxen-driven cart.

He wore his usual casual attire – trousers slightly worn at the knees, a multi-colored checkered shirt, and boots with wooden soles. He took out of the stables the last two Chianine cows which had survived the German raids, connected their harness to the cart with swift, accurate movements, while singing an old operatic aria. Meanwhile, Luisa and Patrizia embraced and kissed the members of the Banchini family – Giulia, La Rossa, Mario and Amato.

They reminisced and talked of the hard, dangerous times endured together, Patrizia’s valiant and nearly deadly stand against the German Kommandant; Luisa’s charitable night trips to share her scant food with less fortunate refugees; Gino’s nephew, Ivo, perilous capture by a dreaded SS platoon and his subsequent providential escape.

Each shed a few tears or stood for long silent moments, caught in the maze of personal feelings which could not put into words.

"Had them be alive said Giulia to Patrizia, your parents would have be very proud for what you done."

In the kind if incorrect language of the farmers, Roberto understood the deep appreciation for his mother’s contribution during the threats and perils of the past months. She had been their leader, their unwavering guide, their rock. And now, at the moment of separation, they wanted to be certain they would try to see each other again soon. Hopefully, as early as the vendemmia- the time for gathering grapes – which, weather permitting, would occur around mid-October.

We will be back the Lanzis promised, it will be a real pleasure.

After exchanging a final goodbye with the Banchini and several refugees, the Lanzis gathered their belongings and loaded them onto the cart. They were ready to leave.

"Via – Yhuh, yelled Gino cheerfully urging the team forward, we’re gonna go to tow. He cracked the whip and the cart pulled forward with a jerk, to the sound of shouted salutations and gravel grounding under the huge ironclad wheels.

Roberto called Luisa not seeing her grandson, where are you?

Taking advantage of all the effusions, he had sneaked out of the yard to meet Giulia’s beautiful niece, Lina, at their rendezvous behind the patch of bamboo canes. For the last time the two young lovers stood face-to-face, while the sun shone overhead and their faces blushed with desire. They looked at each other silently, held hands, embraced and then kissed. A long sensual kiss that sent shivers of pleasure throughout Roberto’s body. A kiss, just two pair of lips touching. And yet, it had the power to make one believe that life was beautiful. That’s what Roberto had thought when they had kissed before. Now though, that same kiss, mixed with the flavor of gratification, contained the bitter trace of an adieu. Lina slowly drew apart, caressed his face and then pulled away.

I’ll never forget you she whispered while turning to run toward the farmhouse. Roberto felt like running after her. To what avail? Each had to follow their own family, pursue their own duties, their separate destiny. The blissful event of war’s end, was suddenly embittered by their inevitable separation. He was left aloe, prey to his anguish.

Will I ever see her again, he thought.

Soon after he heard his nonna calling again. His mother joined in, Roberto. He did not answer and kept on staring at the space around him, as though to impress in his mind that Lina was really gone.

Roberto.

Finally, he shook himself from his state of bewilderment, peeked through an opening in the bamboo canes and saw the cart already approaching the first curve in the road. It was time to go. He released a deep sigh, took a few steps, then began to run through the ragged terrain. Faster and faster, with a motion as fluid as that of a bird, while his heart murmured: ‘Goodbye Lina.’

He reached the cart and jumped on, climbed over the mattresses and sat on top of a pile of blankets.

Finally exclaimed Luisa, I thought you were lost.

Perhaps he was said Patrizia in a knowing tone. But he is young she added with a sigh, he’ll grow out of it…

Luisa glanced at her quizzically, but did not inquire as to her meaning. She looked at her grandson. Roberto had closed his eyes, but allowed his mouth to soften just enough to erase any suggestion of disquietude; his pain was to remain his own.

Meanwhile, through his sorrowful thoughts, he heard the cheerful chattering of the adults. They were talking about the passing of the war front, prophesying the happiest times to come, hoping the family would soon receive news of Riccardo and Lorenzo.

With the peril to their personal lives now removed, the thought of their men weighed heavy in their hearts. Both men were Luisa’s sons, who had been called to arms in 1941, upon Italy’s entrance into the war. Riccardo was Patrizia’s husband and Roberto’s father. He served as an artillery officer with the ‘Pavia’ division at the African front. His last letter was received a few weeks before the final surrender of the Axis’ troops in Tunisia. Lorenzo, was his younger brother and served as an infantry officer with the elite ‘Julia’ Division on the Greek front. He was last heard in June 1943. It was now well over one year since the family had heard from them. They didn’t know if they were prisoners of war, wounded, or even dead.

Afterwards, the anglo-americans had invaded the Italian peninsula and after many bloody battles around the mountainous region of Cassino had finally reached the Arno River.

Now, thanks to a further retreat by the Germans, they could return home and, as nonna Luisa had stated, ‘Try to pick up the pieces, and begin anew a normal way of life.’

Roberto listened quietly for a long while as the cart progreesed slowly along the country road. At long last he opened his eyes and glanced at the countryside. It was really a beautiful day. The sky was a flawless blue canopy, the gold of the wheat fields stood in contrast with the deep green vineyards. Birds and butterflies fluttered around, and the distant hills no longer resounded with the blasts of cannon fire. Nature had quickly forgotten the violence of war. He wished he could be as forgetful as that, and as fast to recover.

Within an hour, they neared the town and the outline of the bell tower and the church dome came into sight. Other familiar landmarks however, had disappeared fron the landscape – as though erased forever by a capricious hand. Castelvecchio had fallen victim to the many American air raids which, though ment to destroy the bridge over the Arno River, had regularly missed the target and hit the town instead.

They call it ‘collateral damage’ Roberto thought, as though the newly coined expression would mitigate deaths and destruction.

Finally they reached the outskirts of the town and in ten more minutes,

Gino pulled on the reins and the cart stopped in front of the Lanzis house. Luisa and Patrizia apprehensively scanned their dwelling for signs of damage. The Persian shutters, the front door, the façade. Although they had avoided the subject during the short trip, they had been afraid of finding their place in worse condition than first envisaged when the German captain - of the near Command Post - had told them their home had sustained some hits. Also, that Italian vagrants had broken in and stolen or ravaged some of its contents.

Son said Patrizia, please open the gate.

Roberto jumped down from the cart, pushed the wrought iron gate open, and Gino backed the farm cart into the garden. As soon as he stopped, a cow began to urinate, splashing the gray stone pavement.

Oh, my poor begonias lamented Luisa noticing the foamy fluid streaming over the tiles and into the flower bed.

Only yesterday we feared death Roberto heard his mother muse, and today you are already concerned about the begonias?

"Don’t worry, nonna Roberto said reassuringly, They won’t die." Then he ran upstairs to unfasten the front door which had been secured with wires by the German captain. He opened it wide to facilitate the haulage of furniture and let fresh air in. His eyes ran immediately to his mother’s piano. In addition to the torn top and lose twisted wires, four words had been etched on its shiny side with a sharp object: ‘Per te ricca puttana –for you rich whore.’

Roberto felt his blood boil in his veins. Was it the random insult of a hooligan, he wondered, or an intended slander? And why? And by whom?

He forced his eyes away and looked around. Many things were either missing or out of place. Some items, he remembered, had been packed and stashed away in the attic or hidden somewhere. He wondered if they were still there.

After the cart was unloaded and the belongings carried inside, they sat around the kitchen table to rest and drink cold water which Gino had manually drawn from the artesian well.

I hope they’ll restore the electricity soon said Luisa.

They probably will Added Gino seemingly unmoved by her comment. He had never had the benefit of electric power at the farm and he couldn’t see the urgency.

It’ll be alright now he continued, there’ll be lots of work to rebuild what’s been destroyed. Plenty of jobs around...

Yes echoed Luisa looking at Roberto, children will be able to return to school and, God willing, our men will return home.

I hope so too said Patrizia pensively. But at least we’re alive and healthy. The rest, will unfold as it should.

She sounded confident. The war front in Italy had now stabilized around the Tosco-Emiliani Appenines. The Germans, though still expected to hold fast to their ‘Gothic Line’ of defense, were demoralized and weary. Only their tremendous sense of discipline, the difficult terrain, and the Allie’s overly cautious approach, allowed them to continue in their systematic strategic retreat. Their shrinking forces and depleted armament, however, precluded any possibility of them mounting a counterattack.

Therefore, at least for this part of Tuscany, the war was now over.

On all other fronts as well, the soldiers of the once mighty Wehrmacht were said to be retreating rapidly. Squeezed between the jaws of the Russian-American vise; ‘how much longer could they resist?’ Patricia wondered, ‘how soon would the conflict end?’

After other considerations, Gino and the Lanzis exchanged a few pleasantries and then the conversation dried up. There was a long moment of almost embarrassing silence. Finally, Gino slapped his thighs loudly and stood up.

Well he said with a sigh, I must be on my way. I’ve got them animals to feed. He hugged and kissed the two women. Then he put his strong hands on Roberto’s shoulders and shook him affectionately: Remember my boy he said with mock seriousness, until your father be back, you are the man of the house. Take care of these wonderful women. He stared into Roberto’s eyes, grinned and then added, And come to see us when we harvest them grapes. You and Mario work well together, like a good team of oxen.

I will! The boy exclaimed.

Even though he still didn’t know what it exactly entailed, Roberto felt proud to be entrusted with the responsibility of protecting the family. Spurred on by Gino’s incitement and remembering his father’s recommendation upon leaving for the African front, he worked with enthusiasm. He helped take chairs down from the attic where they had been stored, and insisted on lugging some of the heavier articles of furniture by himself. He was pleasantly surprised at the additional strength that the time spent at the farm, and the new responsibility seemed to have given him.

Soon, the sparsely furnished rooms began to fill again and the space became temporarily congested with assorted furniture.

*  *  *  *  *

Let’s go out and check the exterior of the house while it’s still daylight Luisa suggested."

They began taking a mental inventory of the war wounds. The front, or south side of the house, had sustained only superficial damage from shrapnel; the Persian shutters, though, needed extensive repair. The east and north sides were almost intact, but the west side had received a major hit. The middle section of the tiled sidewalk was shattered and the wall had sustained damage over five feet in diameter.

It was a cannon shell said Roberto. Look, it exploded on the ground at the base of the wall. Fortunately it wasn’t a direct hit and it didn’t break through the wall completely.

It’s still pretty bad said Luisa in dismay, it will take some money to fix it.

Yes said Patrizia, but at least it didn’t go all the way through, and the repairs can be postponed. The roof however, might have received some damage. It should be checked before raining season begins.

You are right, said Luisa, we can have it looked at in the next few days. Now let’s see the rest and then we’ll have supper.

The tool shed and the hen-coop, detached from the house, were intact. In the orchard, here and there, the ground was punctured by cannon shells and several trees had been blown away or crippled. Many were still standing, but their trunks were embedded with shrapnel. What possible targets have the Americans been aiming at over here? Roberto thought.

I hope they’ll survive Luisa exclaimed, touching a few branches compassionately as though they were wounded human limbs. Then, unable to endure any more devastation, she slowly shook her head, turned to Patrizia and said: Let’s go eat the food the Banchini gave us. Roberto must be starving by now. Tomorrow we can go downtown and see how many shops have reopened and what food is available.

*  *  *  *  *

- II -

That night, for the first time in several months, Roberto slept in his own room. Despite the soft mattress under his body and clean white linen on top he could not sleep. The air was free from musty odors, it was not filled with the heavy breathing or crowded proximity of other people as it had been at the farm. Yet, he did not have the comfort of Lina near him, nor could he reach for her hand under the blanket. He twisted and turned, obsessed by the silence which enveloped the room. He thought of his father, of sitting on his knees as he read him the Odissey, of the rare but memorable evening on the beach of the Arno River. He thought of uncle Lorenzo, images and emotions hounded each other relentlessly in his mind. When he realized that he was close to tears he tried to imagine the secret pain his mother and his grandmother must harbor in their hearts. He felt ashamed of his self–indulg ence.

He had a restless night and finally fell asleep when the sun was about to rise. When he awoke, his mother and grandmother were already uncrating the salvaged household items. The house resounded with the monotonous click-clack of inanimate objects being moved around.

Roberto was excused from this activity but he was told not to leave the immediate surroundings as the streets around the town were in considerable turmoil. He stayed in his garden and watched the American convoys rumble by, heading in a northerly direction. About fifty meters north of the house a tract of the drain ditch, which ran parallel to ithe road, had been covered to allow vehicles to circle around the bomb crater in the middle of the road. Roberto sneaked out of his garden to check it out.

Why don’t they fill it instead? he asked a passserby.

They can’t replied the other, an unexploded 500 kg. shell is still buried at its bottom.

Some of the trucks in the convoy were full of soldiers, others carried equipment and weapons or towed cannons and howitzers. A few people had stopped and pulled aside for fear of being overrun by that avalanche of steel.

Look at that huge amount of equipment! How come they are so slow ending this damned war? commented an amazed bystander.

That’s what I was wondering too replied the other. It was a question present in many people’s minds.

Every now and then a parade passed by the house, and Roberto noticed that people now marched with regular strides instead of the goose-step. The Italian tricolor flags replaced the fascist banners, and the Sabaudo coat-of-arms of the runaway monarch, had been removed from its middle section. Banners with the pictures of Marx and Lenin had dislodged Mussolini’s.

Several days later when he went downtown with his nonna, he saw that some street had already been re-named after new heroes or martyrs, and on a plaque on the wall facing the main square he recognized the names of two young brothers brutally killed by the SS just days before their retreat.

Death is always terrible, Robero thought, but coming so close to the day of ‘liberation’, added to the cruelty of the act.

The old Palazzo del Podesta` was now called Palazzo del Comune or Town Hall. Many posters on the walls displayed words seldom seen or heard before; proletariat, bourgeoisies. While others, such as ‘materialism’ and ‘exploitation’, were coming into common usage. Red shirts, which had been the uniform of Garibaldi’s soldiers during the war of independence against Austria and the Borbons in mid 19th century, now symbolized loyalty and adherence to the new communist party.

An old man who sat smoking his pipe on the shaded steps of the main square, made an insightful observation: "There is so many of them guys in red he said spitting dark saliva on the ground, that’s hard to believe there was any fascists at all only a short time ago!"

Sometimes, gun shots broke the otherwise peaceful evenings and the occasional dead body was later found in a dark corner, with a sign written with the victim’s own blood, tacked to his clothes, Fascist Pig!

*  *  *  *  *

Next time I go to the grocery said Luisa, I’ll ask the owner if he has heard anything about the Gianis. They’re distant relatives she continued.

It’s a good idea Patrizia replied. However, I did check doors and windows of their house and from the outside, everything seems in good shape.

Roberto thought of Lucia – the Gianis’ daughter and his boyhood friend – and frowned at his own ambivalence. Deliberating about the two girls, Lina and Lucia, didn’t seem to create a conflict in his mind – he liked them both.

Lacking the company of other children, he spent his time reading or wandering around the garden and the backyard. The contemplation of lined porcelain demi-tasse didn’t seem a worthy exchange for the freedom and human warmth he had experienced at the farm. He missed Lina, and often thought of her, trying to imagine where she was and whether she would be thinking of him as well.

He also thought about Mario and the many things he had learned from him about plants, animals, companionship and the uncomplicated yet powerful ways of nature. He remembered with nostalgia the time they stood at the edge of a wheatfield bordered by shallow drains. Straight lines of fruit trees ran parallel to the ditches and many of the young saplings had converging branches with peculiar V cuts covered with tar and wrapped with canvas.

What is that? Roberto asked.

It’s done to get fruit when them trees ain’t good enough to do it by itself. They call it graftin’. Don’t they learn you nothing at school?

"Oh yes, grafting, Roberto repeated. "I know what it is, but I had never seen one. One takes a shoot from a yielding tree and splices it to an infertile one to make it productive. Don’t they teach you to talk properly in the country? he retorted. Then, noticing astonishment on Mario’s face, he added, I’m just teasing you, silly. Don’t be cross. Go on, teach me something else."

He also thought of the time when the Germans stole Bianchina, Mario’s favourite cow.

Roberto missed all the other people too. Not individually perhaps, but as a group who formed an integral part of the warm feeling he had experienced in their company.

He wandered in the cold silence of the house, feeling estranged, disappointed and lonely. He was puzzled about his thoughts; war was bad, he knew that. Yet, at the Banchini’s farm he had often experienced feelings which could be described as ‘happiness’. Yes, they had sometimes risked their lives, but when the danger had passed, the exhilaration of being alive made even the smallest occurrence feel like an extraordinary thing – a warm soup, a short lull in the bombing, a compliment, a caress a kiss. The intense feeling of all those diverse people around him, the fears, trepidations, the exultation of the next moment, had made him experience a different, fuller kind of life. Now, all those people were gone; likely forever. His father was still away, perhaps a prisoner of war, or possibly even dead – it was many months since his last letter. His mother and grandmother, despite their love and attention, seemed suddenly inadequate to fill the deep emptiness he felt inside.

He glanced around as though to get his bearings. The waxed marble floor; too perfect to be walked on with shoes, he thought, and too cold to be walked on in bare feet. The fluted glasses, too delicate to handle; the gilded picture of an ancient relative, too ugly to remain on the mantle; the crystal vase, too precious for daily usage. All those ornaments and dishes, untouchable mementos of other people, memories, so important to others, so irrelevant to him.

He thought of the more rudimentary, yet more ‘real’ and purposeful objects seen, touched, and used at the farm, and suddenly he perceived his home as inhospitable. There was a strange atmosphere. It felt as though the house, after holding its breath for so many months without the presence of the family, was now afraid to begin to breathe and start to live again.

I miss the countryside and the Banchini farm, he said one night during supper.

Both women looked at him strangely.

Never mind Luisa finally said, you miss them because you are bored. Tomorrow we’ll start some of the old routines, so when school begins you will be ahead of everyone else.

He regretted having given voice to his feelings.

*  *  *  *  *

Over the next several days, the Lanzis were often downtown. They walked from store to store, rummaging through the bare shelves to find some food. It was always the same story: Flower and rice will arrive tomorrow said the grocer. I only have some stale bread said the baker; no flower, no bread. There is no meat available, said the butcher, the Germans took away all the cows. The few left are needed to work the fields.

However, if one was ready to pay prices higher than those autorized, suddenly the meat, the sugar, the coffee would appear from under the counter.

In the main square, men with long stepladders and pails of white-wash were climbing up the prominent town walls like spiders, painting over the old fascist slogans. Some of the words stubbornly leaked through the first coating and a second one had to be applied. Someone suspected the painters, in order to get paid more, had